Romancing the Pirate 01.5 - Beneath The Water's Edge Page 10

  The breeze on the ridge cooled the sweat trickling down his temple. He dusted off the pebbles stuck into his palms onto his trousers and looked for any sign of Elyssa or that bilge rat, Rathbone. Sunlight skimmed across the gentle waves lapping the shore. Black boulders lined the crusty sand. Blackthorn searched along the rim of the inlet. Below, almost out of his line of sight, he caught a glimpse of movement. He scaled down the embankment, careful not to dislodge loose rocks. Closer, a stone’s cast away, Elyssa and Rathbone came into view.

  Elyssa’s wrists were bound and bloodied by a length of rope and the wretch was having a devil of a time tying her to a tree. He tried to secure her hugging the tree, undoubtedly to defile her with ease, but she fought, twisted and writhed with all her might. Rathbone pressed his body into hers to minimize her struggles. Blackthorn clenched his fists. Keep calm. Keep fucking calm.

  “I’ll gut ya now if ya don’t stop.” Rathbone’s knife glinted in the sunlight as he pulled it from his waist and flashed it before her eyes.

  Blackthorn got a clear look of Elyssa’s tear-stained face. Rage boiled up, heat singed his neck. He held his breath, his jaw aching from grinding his teeth. An unsightly bruise had formed under her eye. He was going to kill that maggot, spit on his worthless carcass for harming her.

  Rathbone threw the rope over a branch and yanked her arms over her head. Pain shot from her raw wrists down to her shoulder blades. She stomped on his foot.

  “Ow!” Rathbone slapped her. “Keep fightin’ me, chit. I’m gonna watch ya bleed.”

  He flattened his slovenly body in closer, his scarred, blotched face an inch from hers. The edge of his dagger pricked the skin under her chin and all but guaranteed she wouldn’t move again.

  “I finally get to bury m’self in ya.” His putrid breath stung her nose. She swallowed back the bile burning at the back of her throat. “Make ya scream. Make ya beg me not to hurt ya no more. But I’m not gonna show mercy on ya. No. I like my doxies to suffer.” He dragged his slimy tongue up her cheek. She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Elyssa could think of no way to escape this madman. No way but death. He planned to kill her anyway. Could she talk her way through this? Perhaps tell him lies, become a willing participant, gain his trust until he untied her and flee at the first chance? Was he that stupid? Nay, she would rather welcome a quick death than submit to the atrocities Rathbone intended. If only he would turn his dagger a little more, she could impale her own throat.

  She would not make this easy for him. The sooner she angered him, the sooner she’d find peace.

  Rathbone smashed his lips to her mouth. It took every particle of her being not to vomit. She bit his lip instead—hard—and wouldn’t let go. He jerked away, but not before she tasted the metallic tang of his blood.

  “Bitch!”

  He struck her with the back of her hand.

  Her head whipped to the side, tears snipped from her eyes at the smarting on her cheek. Anger him more. Elyssa slowly leveled an icy stare at him and spat in his face. “Flog off.”

  She braced herself as he raised his hand to strike her again.

  “Does striking a woman make you feel like more of a man, Rathbone?”

  Bran?

  Rathbone spun around. “You.” Spite dripped from his tone.

  Elyssa’s heart did a flip. He’d come for her. Her wicked pirate had come for her. Hold on, Elyssa. He came for you to collect a ransom. Not because he has the same feelings for you as you do for him.

  Bran hopped down from a boulder and strode near with menacing ease. Even in the bright morning rays, the captain commanded the shadows. The rocks, the deep green foliage, even the water seemed to darken around him.

  “See, I think you’re a lily-livered coward,” Bran said. “You prey on women and ambush men too drunk to put up a real fight.”

  “I ain’t never seen ya in a brawl.” Rathbone cocked his head with a contentious sneer. “Some capt’n, always lettin’ that lackey of yers, Kipp, do all the scufflin’.”

  “A good leader is a tactical one,” Bran retorted. “Shame you don’t know more about me. ’Tis a regret you’ll learn soon enough.”

  “Save yer cowing. Ya don’t scare me.”

  Rathbone was a fool not to be intimidated by Bran. If Elyssa were the wretch, her knees would be knocking with fear.

  “I’ve no intention to scare you, just kill you.”

  The blade of Bran’s cutlass scraped against metal as Bran withdrew his sword from its scabbard. In a blur of speed, he swung the sword. Rathbone ducked away and the blade sliced through Elyssa’s binds. She collapsed to the ground. Her arm muscles cricked from the release of being extended, but her wrists still chafed in their fetters.

  A subtle grin broke across Bran’s calm visage. “But first, are you man enough to fight me?”

  “I’ve no sword. You’ve an advantage. Wouldn’t be honorable of ya, now would it, Capt’n?”

  Bran chuckled. “Honor has nothing to do with it. But I do like my opponent to be a mite challenging.” His smile faded. “No weapons, Rathbone. We fight fist to fist. Or are you a coward?”

  Rathbone clucked. “I’ve wanted to plug ya in the face since joinin’ yer worthless crew.”

  The men threw their weapons aside and shed out of their jackets and tunics. Rathbone was a stocky man with a good build. No doubt he could dominate in a fracas. But Bran, his expansive muscular arms were impressive. Not because of how firm they felt under her fingertips. Not because her heart had been laid open to him. But because brawn such as his harnessed mighty power. Trails of embossed veins traced down his arms as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

  Elyssa scrambled to her feet, putting the tree between her and them. Rathbone circled Bran, as if he were stalking prey. Bran moved only his eyes, watching his foe. Chills swept across Elyssa’s flesh. Dear Lord, these men were going to pummel one another.

  Rathbone swung first, but Bran deflected with his arm and delivered a blow under the cur’s chin. Elyssa cringed at the sound of teeth crunching. Rathbone spat out a tooth and swung again, this time hitting his mark. Bran worked his jaw back and forth. Was…was he…smiling? He returned with another cracking blow. More strikes were traded. Solid jabs coming one after the other. How did they continue to throw punches unaffected by the bashing each took? Grunts tallied growls. Sand kicked up from their macabre dance. Won’t they ever tire?

  Rathbone veered away from Bran’s swing and grappled him. They struggled, arms intertwined, wrestling, as Rathbone tried to bring Bran down. Bran plowed his knuckles into the exposed part of Rathbone’s neck, crumpling him to the ground. Rathbone scampered away on all fours, sand flurrying up from his heels. Clambering to his feet, he snatched up a piece of driftwood and whacked Bran. Bran blocked but stumbled back, giving Rathbone just enough time to retrieve his gulley knife.

  “Bran! Watch out!” Oh God! No!

  Bran looked up too late. Rathbone charged him, locking into Bran in another powerful struggle. They grunted, arms trembling, from the exertion. Neither gained purchase. Elyssa’s heart stopped. Blood wept from a gash in Bran’s gut. The knife in Rathbone’s clutch dripped red.

  Mother of heaven! He’s been stabbed. She must do something to help Bran. Anything! But what could she do with her wrists still bound? Bran’s sword lay in the sand out of reach. Alack! She wouldn’t be able to get around the fighting men to retrieve it. She looked all around her, nothing but rocks. Rocks everywhere. Think, Elyssa, think! She picked up a stone, round like a cannonball, but not quite as heavy. Running up behind them, she smacked the rock over Rathbone’s head as hard as she could. ’Twasn’t hard enough. The thud to his head stunned Rathbone, and he slipped away from Bran. Bran staggered backwards, his face drawn and blanched, looking down at his wound.

  Rathbone sulked around. Malice kindled in his sneer. He kneaded the handle of his knife. “Ya shouldn’t have done that, puss.”

  “You didn’t fight fair.”

  “Ain’t no rul
es in killin’.”

  Bran’s eyes closed. His tense body swayed. He couldn’t be dying, could he? Elyssa prayed it wasn’t so.

  Rathbone crept closer. “Now it’s yer turn.” He raised his blade. Elyssa chunked the rock at him as he lunged.

  A shot rang out, echoing off the walls on the inlet. Rathbone froze, dagger in midair, eyes wide. He folded to his knees.

  Smoke from the pistol Bran held dissipated in the breeze. “I told you I’d kill you.” He strode over to the fiend and snatched the blade from his grip. Rathbone slumped to the ground.

  Elyssa raced to Bran. He pulled her into an embrace and she held him tight, not minding the blood and sweat of his skin sticking to her.

  “Elyssa.” Her name on his lips, raspy yet tender, sounded of pure music. For one moment she allowed herself to soak into him, to move with him as he breathed heavily, thankful she was alive—thankful he was alive.

  He’d done a treacherous thing to her, toying with her affections, using her for money and for her body. The hurt, she’d never experienced anything like it. She had cried until she had no more tears, felt her heart wither and die. If it hadn’t been for Mac keeping close, she’d have walked into the sea and let the pull of the tides wash her away. She had wanted to hate Bran. Desperately. But she couldn’t. Instead, she forgave him. Even if she was his pawn.

  Her captivity at the mercy of a pirate could have been far worse. Quite frankly, she doubted lying beneath another man could ever make her feel the way he did. She had to believe she was fortunate. By all accounts, she should be dead thrice over. Now she could face her life unafraid to take risks. She would see Lord Montgomery’s officer and build her shipping business, for she had nothing else to lose. In the meantime, she must guard her heart from Bran.

  She pried out of his cradle. “We need to get you to a doctor.” Blood coursed down the cut of his flank, staining the waist of his trousers.

  Bran paid her no mind. He sliced through the rope at her wrists with Rathbone’s dagger. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?” He gingerly inspected her wrists.

  “I’m fine. Please, Bran. You’re bleeding badly.”

  “Capt’n!” Kipp climbed down the ragged wall jutting out into the surf. Mac followed on his heels.

  A Royal Navy officer and another man stood atop the peninsula. This other man was impeccably dressed in flashy cream and yellow finery, dripping in jewelry, and wearing a full-bodied white wig with three masses of curls. Despite the wig had fallen out of fashion years ago, there was something else about him that held Elyssa’s attention. He seemed familiar in some way. The distance between them kept her from distinguishing why.

  Kipp and Mac jumped into the surf and waded the rest of the way to the beach.

  “Elysen!” Mac said. “You all right, lass?”

  “Yes.” She met Mac as he came from the water, grabbed his hands, and gave a tight squeeze. “Thanks to you.

  “Kipp,” she joined the first mate. “Bran is hurt.”

  Kipp cast nothing more than a glance to Rathbone as he passed by his lifeless body.

  “Just need a shot of rum, is all,” Bran said.

  Kipp crinkled his brow, giving Bran’s wound a once over. “Like hell, mate. That’s a nasty notch ya got there. We need to get it dressed ’fore ya bleed yourself dry.”

  “He could die?” God, no. Won’t this nightmare end?

  “Doncha worry none, lass. Death don’t want Blackthorn. He’s too much trouble.”

  Bran chuckled, though his smile was forced. It was too much for him. She was not fooled. He was in a lot of pain.

  Bran cupped her chin, his eyes diving deep into her soul. “I’ll be fine. I promise.” He lied. She saw it in the twinge of his lids.

  He kissed her on her forehead and turned to Kipp. “Let’s go finish this,” he said, jerking his head toward the men descending back down the other side of the ridge.

  “Finish what? You need a doctor,” she insisted.

  Bran swooped her up and carried her out into the water.

  “Please, Bran. You’ll hurt yourself further.” His face drew tight with the strain of carrying her. Elyssa tried not to move, tried to will herself to be lighter. “Kipp. Tell him to put me down.”

  Kipp just shook his head, swiped up his captain’s belongings, and followed after them.

  Bran set her feet onto the rocks. Thankful to no longer be a burden, she climbed over to the other side. The officer, the gentleman, and several soldiers were waiting.

  Soldiers? Needles of suspicion pricked at the recess of her mind. Something wasn’t right. Were they there to arrest a pirate captain? Bran was close behind her, climbing down, telling her to watch her step. He was quite unconcerned by the soldiers. Perhaps, they were there to pay her ransom?

  She should run.

  And she might have if she could have stopped staring at the foppishly dressed man. Why was he so familiar? It hit her then. She twirled around to Bran joining her. Could it be? Bran and this man had the same dark eyes, same nose, same strong jaw. Why, they even shared the same smug smile. With the exception the man was slighter of build and perhaps a little older, and that ridiculously exaggerated wig, he looked nearly identical to Bran. So much so, they had to be brothers.

  Bran addressed the men. “Governor Flynn. Commodore Christensen. May I present Mrs. Elyssa Calhoun Montgomery?”

  Governor? This doesn’t make sense. Bran is ransoming me to a governor?

  The governor grazed her with a contemptible scowl and curled his lips as if she were nothing more than street rubbish.

  Commodore Christensen offered her a bow of his head. “A pleasure, Mrs. Montgomery.” He smiled and slid a glimpse to Bran.

  What the devil was going on?

  CHAPTER 9

  “Seize the girl,” Governor Flynn ordered.

  Me? Did she hear him correctly?

  “You’ll do no such thing.” Bran blocked anyone from coming near. “She stays with me.” Kipp and Mac crowded in behind them.

  “I’ll go with no one.” Her statement fell on deaf ears

  “You’re in no position to bargain with me, Blackthorn. Your cavalier design failed.”

  Kipp handed Bran his tunic. “Nay, Flynn,” he said, shrugging back into his shirt. “You know well enough that when adversity lies off your ship’s bow, you change course. I’ve always got another plan.”

  “I’ll not be a part of your parlor games.” Still no one paid Elyssa heed. Infuriating!

  “Like after you shamed Father and were removed from the Royal Navy?” Governor Flynn challenged Blackthorn with a raised eyebrow.

  So they were brothers.

  Bran tilted his head passively. “More like when I overtook the Spanish galleon you’d laid claim to. I should never have told you about her. But then you always were trying to out best me.”

  The governor once was a pirate, too? Egads, things had gotten thorny. What spider’s web had she become entangled in?

  Governor Flynn’s glare could pierce armor. “Best a gallows bird? Not likely.”

  “Oh, I disagree. It ate you up inside knowing our father had any amount of pride for me.”

  “Until you turned rogue.”

  “How long did you chase her?” Bran continued, ignoring Flynn’s jab. “Eight days? Ho, ho! Your persistence and my patience paid off. I’m still toasting to you, from my golden chalice pilfered from the ship, of course, for such an easy quarry.”

  “Kill him.” Venom spurt from the governor’s angry demand. Red splotchy patches appeared on his face.

  Kipp and Mac went for their pistols prompting the soldiers to do the same.

  Commodore Christensen raised his hand to stay his men. “I can’t do that without a reason, sir,” he said to Governor Flynn.

  “He’s a pirate.”

  “With respect, Your Honor, I’ve no proof of that. It is hearsay.”

  “Right, that,” Kipp piped up. “Just as ’tis hearsay you were once a pirate, eh, Gov’ner
?”

  Kipp could have benefited from a shield. Surely Flynn meant to destroy him with his raging eyes alone. “I was a privateer, cretin.”

  A sour smirk spread across Bran’s lips. “Privateer, pirate, one and the same in the eyes of many. And depending on his mood, including the crown.”

  The governor snarled at the commodore. “Arrest him for murder. You can do that, can’t you, Commodore? Is a dead body proof enough for you?”

  “You can’t!” Elyssa would be heard. She anchored herself in the middle of the confrontation. “He was only protecting me. You can’t arrest him.”

  “I can and I will.”

  Determined, she crossed her arms. These men would damn well know she meant business. “I won’t let you.”

  “Oh? Is that a threat?”

  “Elyssa.” There was a rough edge in Bran’s voice. And like any headstrong girl who’d been wronged, she disregarded him.

  “Quite possibly.”

  “For such a pretty little tart, you don’t know your place. One more word from you and I’ll have you arrested for interfering.”

  “You crowing, pompous poppycock.” Uh-oh. What had she done? Her father would be disappointed to hear her disrespect a man of authority. Or any man, for that matter. So be it. She had enough of being treated like a paltry trifle. She would be a man again and take responsibility for her actions. And then send word to Lord Montgomery to beg for her release from prison.

  “Step back now, Elyssa.” Bran nabbed her arm, nearly causing her to lose her balance, and yanked her behind him.

  “Hear me, Flynn. I’ve got an offer you will find most satisfactory.” Bran shot her a warning look to not interfere. One she would heed lest she burst into flames.

  “For a complete pardon of the Sanctum and a promise to leave Mrs. Montgomery’s freedom in tact, I will give you the one thing you’ve always wanted.”

  “Oh? What could you possibly have that I would want?”

  “My head.”

  Kipp uncrossed his arms, shocked by his captain’s declaration. Mac’s mouth fell open. Commodore Christensen let out a heavy sigh and bowed his head. Panic tightened in her chest at the men’s reactions. She eased up beside him. “Bran, what are you saying?”